In view of the upcoming USAnian holiday on Thursday, it seemed like agood idea to share the message I found in my e-mail IN box this morning.There was a point where I did actually laugh out loud, and that is notsomething that happens often when I read anything. Perhaps it willamuse you, too.

For those not fortunate enough to live in the land of Free gun-carryingwall builders and mosque closing demagogues, it might be useful to identifyMartha Stewart as a woman with a magazine, a reputation, and a formertelevision program on how creative diligence at home can turn even the mostmodest hovel into a spectacular showpiece of glittering style and alsohelp you whip up gourmet meals in a jiffy. (Or in a kitchen maybe. LOL)

While this nation's southern border will soon be closed like the demented mindof an insane political party, there has long been a tradition in the Southwestpart of the granfaloon (it's a very useful word; look it up, spread the meme,of, of course, just move on: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Granfalloon )to line walkways with candles seated in sand inside a paper bag. The soft lightlooks quite lovely, actually, so the idea has spread to other regions, and Martha Stewart had nothing to do with it.

On a much more personal note, it is a constant struggle to realize how vast andwonderful are the things to be grateful for, and to continually notice the ones itis too easy to overlook and take for granted. This site and its members are amongthe things I celebrate.

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Martha Stewart will not be dining with us this Thanksgiving. I'm telling you in advance, so don't act surprised. Since Ms. Stewart won't be coming, I've made a few small changes:

Our sidewalk will not be lined with homemade, paper bag luminarias. After a trial run, it was decided that no matter how cleverly done, rows of flaming lunch sacks do not have the desired welcoming effect.

Once inside, our guests will note that the entry hall is not decorated with the swags of Indian corn and fall foliage I had planned to make. Instead, I've gotten the kids involved in the decorating by having them track in colorful autumn leaves from the front yard. The mud was their idea.

The dining table will not be covered with expensive linens, fancy china, or crystal goblets. If possible, we will use dishes that match and everyone will get a fork. Since this IS Thanksgiving, we will refrain from using the plastic Peter Rabbit plate and the Santa napkins from last Christmas.

Our centerpiece will not be the tower of fresh fruit and flowers that I promised. Instead we will be displaying a hedgehog-like decoration hand-crafted from the finest construction paper. The artist assures me it is a turkey.

We will be dining fashionably late. The children will entertain you while you wait. I'm sure they will be happy to share every choice comment I have made regarding Thanksgiving, pilgrims and the turkey hotline. Please remember that most of these comments were made at 5:00 a.m. upon discovering that the turkey was still hard enough to cut diamonds.

As accompaniment to the children's recital, I will play a recording of tribal drumming. If the children should mention that I don't own a recording of tribal drumming, or that tribal drumming sounds suspiciously like a frozen turkey in a clothes dryer, ignore them. They are lying.

We toyed with the idea of ringing a dainty silver bell to announce the start of our feast. In the end, we chose to keep our traditional method. We've also decided against a formal seating arrangement. When the smoke alarm sounds, please gather around the table and sit where you like. In the spirit of harmony, we will ask the children to sit at a separate table. In a separate room. Next door.

Now, I know you have all seen pictures of one person carving a turkey in front of a crowd of appreciative onlookers. This will not be happening at our dinner. For safety reasons, the turkey will be carved in a private ceremony. I stress "private" meaning: Do not, under any circumstances, enter the kitchen to laugh at me. Do not send small, unsuspecting children to check on my progress. I have an electric knife. The turkey is unarmed. It stands to reason that I will eventually win. When I do, we will eat.

I would like to take this opportunity to remind my young diners that "passing the rolls" is not a football play. Nor is it a request to bean your sister in the head with warm, tasty bread. Oh, and one reminder for the adults: For the duration of the meal, and especially while in the presence of young diners, we will refer to the giblet gravy by its lesser-known name: Cheese Sauce. If a young diner questions you regarding the origins or type of Cheese Sauce, plead ignorance. And remember,Cheese Sauce stains.

Before I forget, there is one last change. Instead of offering a choice between 12 different scrumptious desserts, we will be serving the traditional pumpkin pie, garnished with whipped cream and small fingerprints.

You will still have a choice; take it or leave it. I hope you aren't too disappointed that Martha Stewart will not be dining with us this Thanksgiving. She probably won't come next year either.